


It Really Would(n't) Help

by atsushinakajima



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gore, I wasn't sure if this was platonic or romantic so I tagged it as both, M/M, Self-Harm, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 20:21:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15758997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atsushinakajima/pseuds/atsushinakajima
Summary: Mishima was never well. He made a lot of mistakes because of it, but this was a really big mistake.





	It Really Would(n't) Help

Each second of Mishima’s breakdowns was hell.

 

He huddled up in the chair on his desk, trying to calm himself down. He found himself panicking and in fear, hyperventilating. 

 

Shaky hands reached out, reaching for his dismantled razorblades. He held his wrist out, slashing lightly at it. Usually, pain helped him calm down. A light coating of blood covered his inner arms, and where there wasn’t blood, there were faint scars.

 

Mishima switched to his other hand, exposing the pale flesh of his inner wrist. His hands were even shakier than usual, but he carried on with light cuts.

 

But he messed up. He pressed  _ hard. _ Not noticing, he pulled the blade.

 

A large gasp exited his throat and a shiver went down his spine. He looked down, biting his lip. Tears started to fall from his eyes, and he tried his best to hold it back.

 

Mishima fucked up. He fucked up real bad. He had cut through fat, almost hit an artery, and his panicking became worse.

 

He never cleaned his cuts, because they were so small. So this was a new thing. He ran to the bathroom, wrapping the cut frantically. He patted his pocket with his free hand, glad he had his phone on him.

 

He wasn’t thinking clearly enough to call an ambulance. Instead, he selected the last person he texted, calling them right away.

 

“H-Hello!? I don’t know w-who I just called, but I-I need h-help… Please… I did something stupid… Bring b-bandages…”

 

“Mish?!” Oh god, it was Ryuuji. Someone who wasn’t really calm and rational. He trusted Ryuuji though, they were always there for each other, even if Mishima knew he was a bit annoying. “What the hell did you do? Eff it, there’s no time for questions! I’m comin, bro.” The line went dead, and Mishima let out a pained sigh.

 

Mishima could feel the wound pulsating. He felt himself start sobbing, trying to hold his cut close. 

 

* * *

 

Within 20 minutes, Ryuuji was harshly knocking on the door, before stopping suddenly, which Mishima assumed to be finding his spare key.

 

He pushed in, slamming the door shut and running up the stairs, the pounding of his feet matching the pounding in Mishima’s head.

 

Mishima was slumped over in the tub, holding his arm up, attempting not to lose anymore blood. His dull eyes shifted up to Ryuuji, and he gave a weak smile through his tears.

 

“Mish… God, what the eff did you do?” He was carefully touching Mishima’s arm, unwrapping the toilet paper around the cut, most of it bloodsoaked. He didn’t respond, taking shaky breaths between soft sobs.

 

“Oh.” Mishima felt his heart sink as Ryuuji stared at his wrist. “Mishima… You could have asked for help.” He spoke, pulling the bandages out of his pocket. A few smaller ones to almost tape the deep laceration together, some larger ones to keep those in check, gauze to sop up any blood that leaked through, and an elastic bandage to hold it all together. 

 

“Mishima, me and the Thieves care about you. Just because that… Asshole is gone, doesn’t mean we stopped carin’.”

 

Mishima started crying harder, carefully wrapping his arms around Ryuuji. “Woah! Calm down, you don’t wanna open that more.” He spoke, lifting Mishima into a bridal style hold with a bit of struggle, slowly bringing him back to his room.

 

He laid him back down in his bed, scratching the back of his head as he looked at Mishima. Ryuuji sat himself down in the ex-volleyball player’s chair, noticing the glint of a blade. “I’m taking this with me.” He spoke harshly, placing the blade in a box of bandages he had. He turned away from Mishima, and got up. “See you in the morning, dude…” Ryuuji gave a saddened expression as he looked over his shoulder.

 

“C-Can you stay with me? Just for the n-night?” Mishima asked, sniffling. He didn’t want to be annoying, but he didn’t really want to die alone, if he did die. 

 

Ryuuji turned on his heel, sighing. “Yea, I’ll stay with you.” He started to take his shoes off, and stripped himself of his shirt. “I sleep naked, but I doubt you want that.” He still continued to undress, leaving himself in socks and boxers.

 

Mishima fully expected him to sleep on the floor, but instead he wiggled next to him, his arm wrapping around Mishima’s waist. His cheeks flushed red, his heart fluttering about one of his heroes being so intimate with him. 

 

“Night, Mish.”

 

“G-Goodnight.”


End file.
